


Exiled

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:27:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the whirlwind aftermath of his uncle's verdict, Fingon tries to figure out what to do next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exiled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).



> Beta: Cayden

“You are not going to Formenos.”

The day had not yet ended, and already the entire royal family was in a state of upheaval. Fingolfin had just arrived back at his house, but some news managed to precede him -- and due to a little birdie named Aredhel rushing out to greet her father and tell him of her eldest brother’s plans -- some news managed to get to him before he had entered his home.

Fingon, Turgon, and Argon were in the foyer when their father approached, and it was obvious who was being addressed. “We can speak later,” apologized Fingon as Fingolfin’s steady steps echoed through the room. Turgon gripped Fingon’s arm and squeezed once before he bid Argon to leave the room with him. Fingon cleared his throat, and when his father was close enough so that he did not need shout, he answered him. “I know you offered pardon to Uncle Feanor on my behalf.”

“I offered pardon because it was right to do so,” Fingolfin corrected. “We should not quarrel amongst kin.”

Fingon bowed his head. “Forgive me for having misunderstood,” he said. “It was my belief that, in light of so unjust an action, you would have little reason to forgive him for--”

“Forgiveness need not be earned,” interrupted Fingolfin. “That it might have stayed Maedhros from leaving would have been a happy accident, but I was unable to prevent that. Nor am I able to prevent my father from joining them in exile,” he bitterly added.

“I heard about that,” said Fingon, his head still bowed.

“Then you can understand why it is so important for you to stay here.” Fingolfin placed a hand upon his son’s shoulder, and Fingon lifted his head again. “I will have need of your aid in Túna. Formenos is much too far, and we must show unity to the people in this difficult time..”

“You will have Turgon,” Fingon assured him. “He is a far better politician than I, and well-liked by many in Tirion.”

“You are the first-born. That is what the people will care about.”

Fingon fought for words. “If they should ask, tell the people I am on errand most urgent.”

“The people will talk,” replied Fingolfin.

“Let them!” Fingon blurted out. “It is certain they have not been silenced before by the antics of the royals, why should Maedhros and I receive pardon from their waggling tongues?”

“The last thing any of us needs is another scandal. Am I not king now? My word is final,” he warned as Fingon appeared about to argue once more.

“Stay thy reply, Fingon.” Another joined them, having only just arrived. Indis glided across the room, her radiance undiminished despite her troubled countenance. “No good can come of family quarrels.”

When she reached them, she cut between, offering her son a hug first before she turned to her grandchild. As she embraced Fingon, she whispered to him, “There is far too much grief now between brothers. Let us not have dark words between fathers and their sons.” 

Fingon sighed, but said nothing as he stepped back and folded his arms over his chest. Fingolfin stood much the same, and said firmly, “I wish not for darkness here. I wish only to keep my family together.”

“So we may once be again, someday,” said Indis. “As you may well have guessed by now, I shall not follow your father into exile. I have no guilt upon me, nor would I be welcomed in Formenos. I shall relocate to the small holiday estate until everyone returns. Why not allow Fingon to take his leave with me? It will be lonely there and I would enjoy my eldest grandchild’s company. It will not be so far from the palace that you would not have access to his council, should you seek it.”

Fingolfin scrutinized Fingon. “I shall not be agreeable to Formenos, nor should I wish to be deceived that you might steal away to Formenos if not under my watch,” he warned. “But to Taniquetil you may go, if it is to your pleasing.”

\---

That had been two days prior. Fingon packed quickly and traveled light, thus reaching the estate on the outskirts of Taniquetil while his half-cousins were still said to be gathering their father’s hoard to be sent with them into exile. Upon arriving in Taniquetil, he was greeted by his grandmother, who welcomed him warmly before setting him to work. “No one has stayed here for the better part of three years, save Findis from time to time to clear the weeds from the path and check for leaks in the roof. The rooms shall need airing, and the linens should be hung out to breathe. I will be in the cellar taking inventory before I go to market later.”

“I shall see to the windows and linens immediately,” said Fingon as he set his pack down on a dust-covered bench near the door.

“I imagine you shall find help, should you look for it.”

Fingon did not ask for clarification to the cryptic message his Grandmother gave him. She merely smiled and disappeared down the narrow staircase to the cellar while he walked to the steps that would take him to the second floor.

Calling the house an estate was an exaggeration - there were only four bedrooms and a single washroom on the second floor, and two rooms on the first - the kitchen and the family room. Fingon went to the first room at the top of the stairs and found the windows were already open. It also seemed that the room was inhabited. Upon further scrutiny, he wondered if there might be two people residing in the room, or if his grandmother had transported enough luggage for two. 

“She did say she was staying until grandfather returned,” he mused to himself, but something still seemed off. The trunks did not match - there were four that did, painted with a motif of ivy and roses. Then there were two chests that appeared made of copper, with jeweled inlay. And there was the bed. Both sides were turned down, blankets crumpled, pillows indented. While the logical part of his mind reasoned that perhaps his grandfather escorted his grandmother to the house and spent the night before returning to pack, general conversation between other family members seemed to indicate otherwise. It also left the mystery of the mismatched trunks.

Fingon stared at the bed curiously for a little while before he left and went to the next room. This one certainly had not been opened in some time, but only had a single window. He opened it, gathered the linens from the bed, and took them with him to the other side of the hall. 

The third room held a surprise within. “Do my eyes deceive me?” he asked.

“Never would I knowingly deceive you.” Maedhros had already tended to the windows, and was wiping down the woodwork in the room. He smiled and folded the rag he was using. “You are well?” he asked as he placed the rag on the wooden chest at the end of the bed.

“I cannot recall a time when I was happier.” Fingon briefly embraced his cousin when they were close enough. “And you?” he asked. “Tell me what news you bring.”

“It was not only news I brought, but news you shall have first. I bring fair tidings which seem to be ill news. Preparations are moving swiftly. I expect the treasury to be emptied in two days. My father seems to be enjoying the attention in a morbid sort of way. If I hear him utter ‘the truth of Melkor’s prophecy’ once more, I am bound to break my oath to him to accompany him to Formenos with my brothers.”

“But he will not leave for at least five days… will he?” questioned Fingon.

“He has four days left to leave, though he wishes to do so in half that time.”

“Half?” Fingon furrowed his brow. “I suppose he is motivated. What of you and your brothers?”

“We shall go with him, of course. Surely that news reached you,” Maedhros insisted.

“Indeed, but… immediately?” Fingon dared ask.

Maedhros smiled. “We should not waste this time. Maglor has promised to summon me before we leave. Until then, I am at your disposal.”

Fingon gave a single nod, but the disappointment in his eyes was unable to be masked. “How did you convince your father to allow you to come here?”

“Twas not I,” said Maedhros as he picked up the rag again and continued to dust. “My mother requested escort here.”

“Your mother?” asked Fingon. “I did not see her when I arrived.”

“She is helping take stock of the root cellar. My mother has always been fond of your grandmother. They knew each other before they knew their husbands, and have always remained close.”

“That I did not know,” admitted Fingon.

Maedhros smiled again. “There are many things you do not know, and little time we have before I must depart. If only there was time to speak further now, but alas, I made a promise to your grandmother to tend to some things in the house to make it livable. Perhaps I might have time to impart my wisdom upon you after dinner tonight.”

\---

Due to the kitchen still being in a state of disarray, dinner was made and served outdoors. The patio was presentable due to the careful maintenance of Findis. After eating, they continued to sit outside and finish the bottle of wine. Fireflies began to dance midair, and Nerdanel held her hand aloft until one took respite upon her fingertips.

“Make a wish,” Indis insisted.

Nerdanel lowered her hand and examined the tiny creature as it blinked. “All my wishes are bound to a stubborn scholar who had the fumes from his forge go to his head, save but one.” She gave Indis a sideways look that made Fingon wonder at the intention.

Indis leaned over and set her hand upon Nerdanel’s knee. “I shall do my best to avoid disappointing you,” she said in a tone that Fingon was certain he had mistaken for something more. However, when the firefly took flight again, and Nerdanel leaned over to press her cheek to Indis’, Fingon was surprised that Maedhros sat very calmly and sipped his wine. He was further startled when the two kissed, and not upon the cheek, but in a manner he feared made him blush, and so he pretended to find sudden interest in the fireflies.

“Perhaps we should make our escape for the evening,” suggested Indis. “I believe Maedhros wished time to speak privately with Fingon tonight.”

Fingon looked away from the fireflies to catch that it was Maedhros with rose tinted cheeks now. “I do not wish to chase you away, grandmother,” Maedhros said, but Nerdanel was already on her feet.

“Tomorrow, I claim the afternoon with you,” insisted his mother as she bent to embrace him. “I wish the rest of your brothers had come, but at least I have you to dote upon for another day,” she said with a sigh as she ran her fingers through his rusty color hair.

“As stubborn as father is, I still have hopes he will send some of us away from Formenos before his exile ends,” said Maedhros. “How many hours is he really going to put up with Maglor and his harping? He can only accidentally break so many strings!”

The two of them exchanged a moment of laughter over what Fingon expected was a private joke before Nerdanel came around to him to bid him goodnight.

When Nerdanel finished properly excusing herself, Indis stood up as well and came to bid both Fingon and Maedhros a good evening individually before she joined Nerdanel, who had attracted yet another firefly.

“Make another wish,” prodded Indis.

Nerdanel leaned over and whispered something to Indis, who laughed softly. “I can arrange that,” she stated with certainty, and the two entered the house arm in arm.

No words were immediately exchanged between the two who remained on the patio. Fingon watched the house until the window he assumed belonged to the bedroom where he had seen the mismatching trunks took on a yellowed glow from candlelight within. Maedhros opened a second bottle of wine and Fingon held out his glass. “Speaking of things I know not of…” Fingon glanced pointedly to the door where Indis and Nerdanel had entered through several minutes earlier, and then back to his cousin.

“When I said my mother was fond of your grandmother, perhaps I should have said infatuated,” amended Maedhros.

Fingon drank deeply from his glass as he considered a reply, but all that came out was, “Really?” despite obviously knowing the answer.

“Really. Excuse my honesty; blame the wine.”

Fingon lowered his glass and looked back up at the house, specifically at the window that had the soft glow of candlelight illuminating it. “Are they…”

“...sharing a room?” Maedhros nodded. “Did you know that they go camping together?”

“When?”

“Often enough. At least once a year.” Maedhros refilled his wine glass. “Does it bother you?”

Fingon sat up and leaned forward. He stared at the ground for a moment before he answered, “It bothers me that I did not notice on my own. I like to think I am observant.”

“What of their relationship?” pressed Maedhros. “Is it only not seeing what was going on, or is it knowing that it is what bothers you more?”

Fingon frowned. “Does your father know?” 

Maedhros gulped down a significant amount of his glass of wine. “My mother devoted much of her life taking care of her children and supporting my father. While some of my brothers are not happy with her decision, I understand. And yes, my father knows. Clearly he is not happy, but he knows, and my parents are both strong-willed. They have agreed to disagree on this matter.” He finished off his glass of wine. “And to part ways.”

“Permanently?” Fingon held out his remaining wine to Maedhros.

“Let us say… indefinitely.” He took the glass and sipped from it. “He brought up this, she brought up the Silmarilli, it all took an ugly turn from there, which they have rectified by ignoring each other.” Maedhros sighed.

“My sincerest apologies,” said Fingon softly. “What about grandfather?” he dared to ask.

Maedhros nodded and drank again from the glass. “He has an open relationship with your grandmother. I doubt my grandmother would have been as forgiving about this sort of thing, but you see, neither grandfather nor your grandmother are staunch believers when it comes to monogamy - they just tend to keep that aspect of life to themselves ever since the intervention by the Valar.”

“So long as they are all happy. Or… coping,” he added, of Nerdanel and Feanor.

“Coping,” repeated Maedhros. “I am not looking forward to twelve years of coping.”

“Are you staying there the entire time?” Fingon asked.

“As long as my father is there and bids me to stay.” Maedhros finished the second glass of wine. “I still have my hopes that he will send Maglor, Caranthir, and I back at some point, but we shall see.”

Fingon leaned forward in his chair and placed his hand upon one of Maedhros’ hands. “I already know I will miss you terribly when you are away.”

“At least we have a few days together.” Maedhros leaned forward as well, and lifted his free hand up to Fingon’s cheek. Fingon tilted his head in surprise, and Maedhros said, “We should not waste a moment,” before he tried to kiss Fingon. However, Fingon was confused as to what was going on, and turned his head a bit so that Maedhros pressed his lips to the corner of Fingon’s mouth.

Both of them pulled away in shock. Fingon touched the side of his face. “Oh,” was all he managed.

“Oh…” Maedhros scrambled to his feet. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

Suddenly, Fingon was alone. He sat on the patio by himself for nearly an hour, all the while reflecting on everything he had ever said to Maedhros that would give his cousin the impression that he desired something more than the fast friendship they had. When he saw the light diminish in the room where his grandmother and aunt were sleeping, he went back into the house and quietly walked to the room where he expected to find Maedhros.

The door was ajar, so Fingon peeked in. Maedhros was in bed with his back to the door, but he was awake, and knew when Fingon arrived. “I misread you,” he spoke before Fingon could, and from the waver in his voice Fingon could tell that Maedhros had been crying for some time. “I am thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed of myself and I hope you can forgive me. I value your friendship far more than anything and I never meant to compromise that. I love you, but I love you as a friend first and I would be so lost without your friendship.”

“I will always be your friend,” Fingon assured Maedhros. “I do not think I can be your lover just now. Two days together followed by twelve years apart would be a torment for us both.” He could feel the disappointment radiate from Maedhros when he said these words, and he added hastily to them. “This is not something I ever considered, but I am open-minded, and I have always enjoyed your company. When you return, I would like to pursue this... furthering of our relationship.”

Maedhros nodded, but did not turn over. “That is more than fair. I truly did not mean to--”

“Shh.” Fingon bit his lip after silencing Maedhros. He contemplated going to the room he had chosen of the two that remained, but instead he walked around the bed and stooped down to face Maedhros. There were still tears on his cheeks, and the pillow was damp. Fingon wiped them away as Maedhros watched him. “I never want to make you cry again,” he whispered. 

Maedhros’ bottom lip trembled, but he nodded. “I thought I had more time to work all of this out, but I am out of time. It was unfair to you to rush like that.”

Fingon touched Maedhros’ cheek. What was it that had caused him to react with such uncertainty, when he had known Maedhros for so long, and never had things been ill between them? The only word that came to mind was ‘cousins’, and even if they had been full-blooded, he knew that was something that did not stop some of the Eldar. “May I stay the night?” he suddenly asked.

There was a look of disbelief, but Maedhros nodded. “You are always welcome.”

Fingon was about to walk back around the bed, but he paused and leaned forward to properly return the kiss he had received earlier. He had his eyes closed, but felt Maedhros touch his cheek gently. They kissed twice more - chaste and hesitant, slow and soft. “I will be right back with my night clothing.” Fingon finally said before they became too involved with the activity.

“Uhm…” Maedhros blushed as Fingon stood up.

“Yes?”

“I left in such a rush to get here, I am not wearing any,” he confided with embarrassment.

“Ah.” Fingon cleared his throat. “I suppose I do not need to get any.” Fingon walked around to the other side of the bed for modesty’s sake. “You certainly are making it difficult for me to keep my promise not to start anything with you before you leave,” he added in a way he hoped would lighten the mood a little.

Maedhros turned over the pillows while Fingon removed his clothing. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?” he asked with more than a bit of hope in his voice.

Fingon slipped under the blanket. Many times, he and Maedhros had stripped to go swimming or share a bath after a hunt, but this was far different. Fingon initially thought to keep his distance, but it was not long before he was spooned behind Maedhros. “Promise to write to me,” he whispered close to Maedhros’ ear.

“Every day,” he replied.

“At least each week. You will be busy - you will need to build a living structure and storage and who knows what else.” Fingon held Maedhros tightly, and it felt so natural to him he could not explain to himself after why he had never done so before. “And come back to me.”

“As soon as I am able.”

Fingon kissed Maedhros’ neck, amazed at how instinctual it seemed to touch him. “Because if you do not, I will come after you.”

“I do not doubt that,” answered Maedhros.

 

-Epilogue-

“Fingon!”

For a moment, he almost kept going without acknowledging he had heard his name. He could tell that it was Turgon, though, and after all that had happened, he was not going to ignore him. He turned around and waited.

“You are not going to Angband… are you?”

Fingon tightened his grip on his bow. “Someone has to. We need to know what happened to him.”

“Let us send someone else,” insisted Turgon. “Let us send a party.”

Fingon gritted his teeth. “It has to be me. I promised,” he added. He blinked and lifted his other hand to his eyes.

Turgon looked over his shoulder to be sure they were alone. There was no one nearby, and he looked back. “You love him,” he stated.

Fingon closed his eyes and nodded.

“Then go find him,” advised Turgon.

“I will,” Fingon vowed.


End file.
